


where did it go - did i leave it in the cold?

by sharkkashi



Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: ADHD Bill, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jewish Bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkkashi/pseuds/sharkkashi
Summary: Bill has two parents that love him. He has a dad who smokes too much and tells him to stop crying so much and a mom who gives him alcohol-scented kisses when she remembers he's there at all. He has a grandma who doesn't know the meaning of the word no and as an awfully different definition of love than him. He has a big house that feels empty and that echoes when his parents get into a screaming match. He doesn't have any reason to complain.So why does he feel like this?
Kudos: 16





	where did it go - did i leave it in the cold?

**Author's Note:**

> the incest isn't graphic, it's touching and kissing when bill says no, and the abuse is also minor, but pls be safe and don't read if it might trigger you!! stay safe players.. also i am a goy so if my depiction of bill being jewish is in any way offensive/incorrect pls let me know!!! my hc is based on alex winter being jewish irl :)

Bill has a good life. He’s got 2 parents and a big house with a yard. They don’t have a dog, which Bill is sad about, but he figures his parents have a hard enough time remembering to take care of him that a dog might be too much for them. He’s a fourth grader now and it’s Thanksgiving. California never really gets cold enough to wear more than a sweatshirt and jeans, so Bill doesn’t bother to put on more than his jacket when he goes outside to play. No one else is outside, but he’s kind of thankful for that. He came outside to be alone, after all. Dinner hasn’t been served yet and Bill is hungry, but he’d rather be outside than in the house. His dad is watching the game, TV blaring, while his mom smokes and gets the food ready. Normally Bill would be inside, revelling in his mother’s attention as he sneaks bites of food here and there and whines at her to hurry, because he’s hungry! But he’s avoided the kitchen all day today. Not even the scent of baking pie lures him there. Because sitting at the counter, periodically applying more garish pink lipstick and peering through thick glasses, is his grandmother.

She smells overwhelmingly like artificial flowers and death, though Bill can’t tell her that. No matter how informal the occasion, she comes dressed in an itchy knitted cardigan over a stiff, floral patterned dress. It seems she has an innumerable amount of them, considering Bill’s never seen her wear the same one twice. Her silvery hair is pulled back in a neat bun and when she arrives, she always demands a hug and a kiss from her only grandson. When he was younger, Bill had enjoyed having someone openly invite love from him. His father spent his time either at work or on the couch, watching TV with a beer in hand, and Bill had strict orders not to disturb him when he was having “a relaxing evening after work”. His mom is a bit more free with her love, but she mostly just pinches his cheek roughly and kisses him with alcohol-scented breath that makes Bill’s eyes water and his nose scrunch up. He used to throw himself into his grandmother’s arms and giggle into her scratchy cardigan as she ruffled his hair and leaned down to plant a lipstick-stained kiss right on Bill’s lips. 

But this year Bill didn’t want that. He had refused to hug or kiss her, much to his mother’s annoyance. She had smacked the back of his head and scolded him- “William! Give your grandma a kiss right now!”- and Bill had reluctantly shuffled forward. His grandmother stepped forward, barely missed crushing Bill’s foot under her own, and then her heavy arms settled around him like shackles. He squirmed, the fuzzy sweater tickling his nose and scratching his face. But his grandmother did not relent. One wrinkled hand grabbed his chin and yanked it up. Bill shuts his eyes and lets his grandmother give him a kiss right on the lips. His face burns and the itchy cardigan and the lipstick and the deathly breath of his grandmother is just too much. He ducks out of her arms and his mother laughs, too loud, and shows his grandmother to the kitchen. His dad grumbles as Bill darts across the living room and towards the stairs. He runs upstairs, to the bathroom, and washes his face as many times as he can stand. Water drips down his chin and he roughly wipes it away with a towel. Some had dripped on his shirt, but Bill doesn’t care enough to dry it off. He slips into his room and heads straight for his comic books. 

It’s not long before his mom is shouting up to him, demanding he get down there, because this is a family thing and he’s not allowed to sulk in his room! She sounds a little tipsy at this point, so Bill opts to go outside. Thanksgiving hasn’t ever been his favorite holiday, but he hates it a little more this year. 

Hanukkah isn’t much better, but there it’s easier to get lost among the cousins and aunts and uncles than during Thanksgiving, when it’s just his parents and his grandma. His grandma seeks him out, though. She corners him in the bathroom, one time, for a kiss, and Bill spends the next 10 minutes scrubbing furiously at his face. On her birthday, she comes over to “spend time with her favorite grandson”. She wants him to sit in her lap, and Bill shakes his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut and staying rooted to the ground. This time it’s Bill’s dad that smacks him upside the head and Bill slinks over to his grandma. She reeks of perfume, the scent overpowering even the burning of the candles on her cake. Bill climbs carefully into her lap and she latches an arm around his waist. Her fingers dig into his stomach and Bill hunches over, refusing to react out of shame and anger. His little hands fist the tablecloth and he shifts uncomfortably. He helps her blow out the candles and she kisses his cheek before she lets him get up. Bill wants to eat the cake, he really does, but it tastes like nothing on his tongue and he mumbles something about feeling sick before retreating upstairs. 

After 20 minutes his cheek is rubbed raw and all traces of lipstick are gone, but he swears he can feel her gnarled hands pawing at his stomach still. He sniffles back tears, because nothing happened, and men don’t cry, William, and darts back into his room. He doesn’t want to see anyone right now, and he wishes bitterly for a dog, someone to guard him while he sleeps. He closes his door and imagines a big, strong dog standing at attention next to the door. If anyone tried to get in, his dog would bark and scare them off, but if Bill wanted him to, his imaginary dog would come curl up next to him and let Bill pet his soft ears until he fell asleep. Bill curls up in the dark space underneath his bed and tries to pretend that there’s a big dog protecting him from anyone who might wish him harm. And maybe licking his face to get rid of all the unmanly tears he’s not supposed to be crying. 

It’s not long after the birthday party that his mom leaves. She leaves loudly, screaming and crying and angry. Bill is greeted by the scene when he gets home, sweaty and tired and annoyed from the walk- he’s usually picked up by his mom but she hadn’t come this time, which was infuriating more than anything. His palms and knees sting from the shove he had gotten when he first started out, from some older kid Bill didn’t like. Which could have been avoided if his mom picked him up, but she was probably drunk already, and she didn’t drive when she was drunk. Which pisses Bill off further, because why would you drink if you knew you couldn’t drive once you did it, and you had to pick up your kid from school? Everybody else got a ride, or had a bike, but Bill had to walk all by himself, all 3 miles just him and his footsteps. It took him nearly an hour to get home, an hour he spent stewing in annoyance, then anger, and then pure rage. But Bill regrets his thoughts and his anger as soon as he opens the door and steps inside. The living room is empty, but he looks up to see his mother, body stiff with anger, screaming into her bedroom. 

“- SOME FUCKING WHORE?!” she screeches. She has something in her hand, and she shakes it into the bedroom. It’s a pale pink, lacey and frilly and unfamiliar to Bill and his mom, apparently. 

“It’s not like that-” his dad tries, before his mom cuts him off. 

“Oh? This another anniversary gift I’ll never see?!” she snarls. “You’re a cheating piece of shit, Ian!” 

Bill watches, silent and wide-eyed, as his father comes out of the bedroom to smack his mother. 

“After you had Bill you never made time for me!” his dad yells back. His face is getting red, and Bill shrinks even further into himself, fear striking him even though neither adult has noticed him. He’s rooted to his spot next to the door, watching his parents argue at the top of the stairs. “You just spent all your time at work, talking about Jonathan, or Kasey, or whatever the hell his name was! You got fat and you got lazy and you kept drinking! What was I fucking supposed to do?! You didn’t do anything for me!” 

“I was working to put that brat through college! I was fucking working for us, Ian! And you repay me by fucking some high school slut who can’t even pass English?!” 

“She’s a better lay than you ever were,” his dad seethes, and this time he’s the one that gets smacked. His mother is deadly calm. Bill can’t breathe. 

“I’m leaving.” 

“You’re gonna leave me with the fucking kid?!” 

“You’re the one who wanted a son anyways! I never wanted to have a goddamn kid! They’re just snotty little monsters who take everything without ever paying you back!” 

“Fucking fine! You’re a good for nothing bitch anyways! Go! Leave! I’ll be better off without your fat ass spending my hard earned paycheck!” 

His mom whips around and starts down the stairs, dragging a suitcase behind her. Her face is contorted with rage, black mascara dripping down her cheeks and her pink lipstick smeared. She spies Bill, still standing next to the door, eyes wide and frightened. He feels like an insect beneath her gaze, insignificant and useless. Her suitcase is big and heavy, clunking down the stairs. It feels final. 

“I don’t know why I bothered to think you were gonna amount to anything,” she hisses as she storms past him. “Fucking useless brat.” 

His dad is standing at the bottom of the stairs. Bill carefully doesn’t meet his eyes. 

“Who the hell does she think she is, acting all high and mighty! Like she was ever a good wife.. fucking ungrateful bitch! Leaving me with the kid…” 

Bill doesn’t move from his spot until his dad goes into the kitchen and Bill hears him rummage around in the liquor cabinet. He doesn’t go to school for 3 days after that. His dad doesn’t take him, and Bill doesn’t want to walk. He steals food from the kitchen when he can, and lays in bed a lot. He can’t quite figure out how he feels yet. It’s mostly this deep numbness in his chest. His dad spends a lot of time in his bedroom and the house smells like skunk and unwashed dishes. 

On Friday, Bill reluctantly answers the door. Some teenage girl is standing there. She looks concerned, and a little surprised to see Bill. There’s a backpack slung over her shoulder and she gives Bill a forced smile. Her skirt is plaid and her white button up shirt is transparent enough that Bill can see her bra. He keeps his eyes on her feet. She’s wearing black pumps. 

“Hey, kid, is your dad home?” she asks. She sounds nice, but so did his mom, so Bill just nods, still staring at the ground. She steps forward and pats his curly hair gently. “You can look, I don’t mind.” 

Bill’s face heats up and he can’t open his mouth to say anything. She just chuckles a little and steps past him. Her heels click on the tile flooring and Bill can’t help but to feel dirty, like he’s a traitor. He may only be in fifth grade but he knows why this girl? woman? is here and he doesn’t like it. His parents kept their intimacy less than private. He doesn’t want to see that happen again at all, especially not with this woman who he doesn’t even know. 

“Don’t look so scared!” she grins at him as she makes herself comfortable on the couch. “Here, you want some bubblegum?” Her grin is painted pink and she leans forward on her knees. Bill can see down her shirt, and she squeezes her arms together to push her chest forward at him. 

Bill feels something happen in his chest, but he doesn’t stick around to find out what it means. He races upstairs, feet thumping on the carpet, and throws open his parents’- no, his dad’s bedroom door. His father is sitting on the bed, beer in hand and eyes vacant. He turns around, slow and uninterested. Bill’s chest is heaving and he doesn’t feel like he can catch his breath. There’s a bad feeling low in his stomach and he can’t seem to find the words to say anything. He’s not even sure what he would say. He can’t ask for help, because men don’t ask for help. Nothing is wrong, he just feels bad. His dad is already upset enough, and Bill doesn’t know what he would do if he got angrier. So he points down the stairs. 

“Ian? It’s Rosanne!” 

His father perks up. The bad feeling intensifies, and Bill retreats to his room. He curls in around himself and tries to block out any noise that he hears. 

The weekend goes by in a blur of napping in his room and sneaking downstairs to grab food, and suddenly Bill is shaken awake. His father looks pissed- “You’re late for school, dumbass!” and they fall into a similar routine as to when his mom was still there. 

Bill makes himself breakfast, and lunch, as usual, but his dad drives him to school now, in stony silence. He listens to the football game on the radio, whereas his mom listened to music, and Bill gets out without saying goodbye. He’s picked up, usually around half an hour after school ends, and he makes himself an after school snack. Dinner is prepackaged, or ordered in. His mom wasn’t ever that great of a cook, but Bill misses the noise she made when she talked to her friends on the phone or flicked through the television channels or tried to cobble together a meal. Eating out used to be a treat- he and his dad would get food together on nights when his mom worked late, but now it’s just depressing. He doesn’t want his mom to come back, but he hates her absence just as deeply as he hates her leaving. 

Bill is angry, most of the time now. He’s angry his mom left, he’s angry his dad is so apathetic and uncaring about it, he hates that they have this big, empty house, he hates having to hide in his room to avoid his dad and Rosanne when she comes over. He hates Rosanne, for dressing so weirdly and smiling at him like she knows him, and he hates his dad for inviting her over and taking her into his bedroom. He hates that nothing he does feels right anymore, he hates that he has to do classwork and sit in a classroom when there’s a buzz under his skin that aches to be let out. He hates PE, hates feeling stupid when the bigger kids shove him around, hates the teachers for doing nothing and hates his peers for just watching. He’s angry he isn’t stronger and he’s angry that this is his life. 

He’s stuck, chained down in this monotonous routine of doing meaningless things just because someone said so. Nothing he seems to do can get his dad to give a shit anymore, so Bill spends class doodling and daydreaming about what it would be like if everything was better, if everything was ok. His grades slip, but Bill doesn’t really give a shit. What difference would a good grade in middle school make when he’s worthless? His own mom didn’t even want him. So Bill takes up time teaching himself how to sew his torn shirts back together, and drawing, and cutting up old clothes that remind him too much of being younger. Life is boring, and nothing really makes him feel anything other than anger. It’s not an existence Bill enjoys. 

In 7th grade, he meets Ted. 

**Author's Note:**

> can yall tell this is a vent fic?? this is a vent fic. no beta so let me know if there r typos in the comments !


End file.
